


The Line of Boswell

by Capostrophe



Series: At The End of the Day [5]
Category: Bread (TV)
Genre: Baby Names, Depression, Dysthymia, Emotional Instability, F/M, Marriage, Nightmares, Post-Canon, Pregnancy, Repressed Memories, Second marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capostrophe/pseuds/Capostrophe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martina's never felt the need for one. Joey's becoming obsessed.<br/>Sequel, of sorts, to 'At the End of the Day'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Line of Boswell

**Author's Note:**

> Another post-canon Joetina, written initially after a conversation with a fellow Joetina fan about what Joey and Martina's kids would be like, if they had any (I do plan to put up a sequel in which we actually get to see the kid.)

**1996**

 

Joey's been taken with an idea. And Martina doesn't like it.

It's a mad idea. A preposterous one. And one she can't stomach.

Joey wants children.

And not in a vague, off-handed, occasionally casually mentioning it sort of way. It's a full-bodied, sitting down and having talks and saying 'we should have children' sort of way. It's a bringing home brochures from the doctor's surgery and child-rearing books sort of way. He's serious. He really means it. He's determined.

And Martina doesn't like it one bit.

It isn't as if she doesn't know _why_ he wants one ( _one, or two…maybe three_ were his exact words, she recalls, but even one is bad enough). And though it's a perfectly _understandable_ reason, given what he's been through in the last few years, even though she thinks she might even have felt the same, had she been in the same situation, Martina doesn't think it's a _good enough_ reason to go to all that effort, to get a whole human life out there.

He misses Roxy's son.

She doesn't blame him. She gets it, really she does. The kid had been without a father, not belonging to Roxy's first husband. Joey had started seeing Roxy again. He'd grown to love him, had sort of adopted him, become a surrogate father. And when Roxy left him, forbade him any sort of visitation, seeing as he had no legal rights, he was left with a void he now wants to fill. That's all well and good, and it's perfectly acceptable for him to pine now and then. But to have a child just to replace the one he's lost is just not right. It's just not on.

Martina won't do it.

She knows too well the feeling of being used- of being wanted around for mere convenience, and it's something she wouldn't wish on anyone, ever.

'That's _not_ why, sweetheart, and you know it!' Joey protests when she confronts him with the matter. 'I love Oscar- always will, but even if I still had 'im I'd have wanted some more o' me own anyway! I want a _fam-i-ly_ , Martina! It's all I've ever wanted!'

'You've _got_ a family,' she says, deliberately being harsh in an attempt to get it into his mind that she's closed to the idea. 'The great clan o' Boswell is quite big enough as it is, without you 'avin' ter add to it. Be happy with what you 'ave.'

'You know that's not what I meant,' says Joey, coming to sit down beside her. 'That's the family I was born into, the one I come from. I want one of me very own.'

He kisses the top of her head. 'With you.'

Martina's still not very convinced. No matter what he says, no matter how many other excuses he comes up with to pacify her, a little part of the reason will always be that he wants a substitute for Oscar. And a substitute she will not provide.

'I don't want ter hear about this again,' she says.

She gets up, puts her coat on and goes to work.

Conversation done.

* * *

Except it isn't.

Martina makes up her mind to put the idea out of her head. But everything, everyone that comes into the Social Security building today somehow has to remind her.

'I've been burgled,' the young woman sitting at her desk says.

Martina rolls her eyes, gets out a form. 'Go on.'

'They took me washing machine…' she rattles off a list of expensive clothes that were in there, the components of which include cashmere and silk, 'and they took the satellite dish for me television, and…'

'So, what you're really sayin' is they didn't take anythin' you couldn't live without.' Martina's being harsh, knows this, but if she's not in the mood for this sort of pathetic lie, she's not in the mood. And she certainly isn't today. 'We pay for essentials, not luxuries. And you do not need satellite dishes and silk dresses. Those aren't considered an essential part o'life.'

'Oh, but I _do_ need all that,' the woman says defiantly, 'I was gonna sell then to buy meself things for when the baby arrives,' she puts a hand down on her stomach, and Martina notices for the first time that her client is heavily pregnant. She frowns, remembering her conversation with Joey this morning, and her mood darkens from grey to black.

'Next!' she calls without any further elaboration.

'You _are_ 'eartless! I'm havin' a baby- I need money!'

'Next!' Martina calls again.

It isn't the best thing to have done, she realises when her next victim seats himself in front of her. She's gone from bad to worse.

It's Billy Boswell.

'Me giro 'asn't come.'

'I get a lot o' complaints about that. I think you should speak ter the post office. We send them out on a specified date- and we are _never late with them_. What 'appens ter them after we post 'em out is to do with the post office, not us.'

'I can't wait 'til it comes!'

'Go and not wait somewhere else.'

'I need money now!'

'Go and sell yer sandwiches, then.'

'That doesn't make much! I 'ave got a _child_ to support, don't forget that!'

Martina rolls her eyes. 'Well maybe if you'd 'ave been a bit more careful, Mister Boswell, you wouldn't 'ave, and then you wouldn't 'ave ter worry about all this marriage and divorce business, and all this child support you _supposedly_ need ter be payin'.'

Billy is aghast. 'Are you sayin' I shouldn't have 'ad _my baby_?' He points an accusing finger at her. 'You're 'orrible, you are.'

What is it with everyone and babies? Is she the only one that's sane? Babies are _not_ the only thing worth living for, for goodness' sake! She is not 'horrible' for pointing out the obvious.

'I couldn't care _less_ about yer baby, and all that rubbish,' she says, 'you're just usin' it as an excuse ter bleed the state dry, and it's my job, Mister Boswell, to ensure that doesn't 'appen.'

Maybe that was a bit nasty. She doesn't retract it, though.

'I'm gonna tell Joey on you!'

Martina laughs out loud at this. Billy Boswell never really grew up- he still behaves like a child, and in a way, she supposes, that's Joey's fault, still treating him like a 'baby lad' even now he's in his mid-twenties. He's never learned to take it like a man, still runs to whatever familial authority he can the moment things get tough.

'Ooh, and what d'you suppose he'll _do_ to me?' she mocks. 'Knowin' that I was simply _doin' me job-_ it's _unthinkable!_ '

Billy's still not all that good at picking up sarcasm either.

'Hopefully he'll tell you off for bein' so 'orrible!'

'And if 'e tries, I will put 'im in 'is place.' She leans forward with a sinister smile. 'I could eat your Joey fer breakfast- there is no way, Mister Boswell, he will ever 'ave control over what I say or do.'

Another rather harsh sentence, and she chalks this one up to her own determination regarding the children issue. She's trying to convince herself, as much as anything, that Joey will never be able to coax her or force her into anything she doesn't want to do. Having children included.

'Next!' she shouts. Billy lingers, on the verge of saying something else, but the man skulking up to the counter is twice his size, and by the looks of him, about to start yelling. He slinks off.

The hulking, beefy man takes his place. Martina gets ready for whatever he's going to start shouting.

'My wife's havin' a baby,' he says, his voice a lot higher-pitched than she's been expecting, and whiny, too, 'and I need money to support it!'

Martina feels like tearing her hair out. _Give me strength_.

* * *

'Eh, sweetheart, what did you say to our Billy today?'

Martina pushes past him without answering, heading for the stairs. She just can't stand this.

'He was really cut up, you know-you weren't deliberately tryin' to upset 'im, were you?'

She mutters something about his brother 'annoying her' and keeps on up the staircase, disregarding the fact that he's still calling up after her.

'Martina?'

'Leave me alone,' she growls, walking right into the bedroom and shutting the door hard behind her.

She tosses her jacket onto the bed, kicks off her shoes, stares at herself in the mirror in the dresser. Are those _tears?_ Why? She's got no reason to be upset. They must just be coming because she's so _tired_. That's all it is.

She lays back on the bed, breathes in and out, trying to chase the stress away.

The bedroom door creaks.

'Greetings!'

Martina turns away from him, staring fixedly in the direction of the window. Outside, a pigeon flies past. She tries to count the white spots on its neck before it disappears from view.

He sits down on his side of the bed, shuffles closer to her, prods her in the back.

'Hey. Martina.'

'What?' she demands.

'Has somethin' upset you, sweetheart?'

How perceptive. _Of course it 'as, you pillock_.

Problem is she doesn't know what has. It can't be all his talk about children this morning- that was hours ago- but then again she's still annoyed about it. It might be all the stress linked with work- that does often get her down, though not like this.

'Was it somethin' Billy said? He said you were bein' really cruel today- even more than _usual_ , that is.' She detects the slight flavouring of humour in his voice, but it has no effect on her. If that's the best he can do to try and cheer her up, he might as well not bother.

She doesn't respond to his questions.

 _'Sweetheart_ ,' Joey cajoles, rubbing circles between her shoulder blades. 'Speak to me.'

'What do you want me ter say, Joey?'

'Well, some indication that you're still in there might be nice, that's all.'

'I'm still in 'ere,' she says flatly.

' _That's_ my girl. Nice bit o' sarcasm there.' He gives her shoulder a squeeze. 'Now, are you gonna tell me what's wrong, or am I gonna have to use other methods of persuasion?'

 _That_ is a lead if ever there was one. Martina can't resist a bit of bait like that. She half-sits up, faces him, her head resting on her elbow.

'Oh, and what do you know about _persuadin'_ , Mister Boswell? When was the last time you actually got a form out o' me down the DHSS?'

Joey doesn't answer her, takes her hand and kisses it instead.

'Billy mentioned you sayin' somethin' about _eatin' me for breakfast_. Sounds positively _dirty_ , that does.' He grins at her, kisses her hand again, then her wrist, and starts up her arm.

Martina is unresponsive. She knows with alarming clarity what he has in mind, and it's putting her off.

She snatches her arm away. 'You're only thinkin' about _babies_.'

'Why, Martina,' Joey snorts, 'what sort of man do you think I am? You can get arrested for 'avin' those sorts o' thoughts!'

'Go and wash yer mouth out!' she snaps. 'That's not what I meant, and _you know it_. And makin' pathetic little jokes like that is not gonna sway me.'

Joey sighs. 'Why are you so against the idea, sunshine?'

'You know full well why. We are not gonna 'ave a baby just so you can have somethin' to replace Oscar.'

He looks hurt by her comment- hurt and verging on angry. 'I told you this mornin', _didn't I_ \- that wasn't the reason. I want me own, Martina. _Our_ own- I thought you'd want that too…' he trails off, looks at her. 'Are you _sure_ you're a _woman?_ I thought that's what they all wanted!'

'Well _not me_ ,' she says from between gritted teeth.

'Seriously,' he takes hold of her, pulls her closer, looking at her face for something that might explain her feelings to him, because he, it's obvious, doesn't understand them, 'the Oscar thing aside- and you _know_ it wouldn't be like that, anyway, because I'd love this kid for who _they were_ , not who I used to have- what have you got against the idea of 'avin' children?'

Martina pauses, thinking.

'C'mon, sweetheart- it'd be fantastic! Think about it, Martina- with your clever, DHSS-lady mind and my all-round brilliance and Boswell cunnin'- our children could rule the world!'

'Good grief. More cunning Boswells. Doesn't even bear thinkin' about.'

He's disappointed his speech hasn't had the desired effect on her, has seemingly added another reason to the list of cons.

'Can't you just tell me, in all honesty, why not?'

'I'm not discussin' this with you, Joey.'

_'Sweetheart…'_

Martina's impervious to his pleas. She pushes him off of her.

This subject is not, repeat _not_ open to negotiation.

She's made her mind up.

And if he's going to keep going on about this, he can sleep on the sofa tonight.

* * *

Martina jolts to her senses at three in the morning for no apparent reason. Her instinctive reaction is to look to her right for Joey- often he disturbs her when he comes in after doing his not-so-secret and often not-so-legal night time jobs- but no, he's sleeping soundly at her side.

She tut-sighs, sits up, wraps her arms round her knees and stares off into the darkness.

What is it that's wrong here? Why can't she sleep?

Well, it's because of this ridiculous baby thing, that's why.

And it isn't just Oscar, she realises now, now that she's thinking about it properly. There are so many reasons why not.

For one thing, it's simply too late. Joey's going to be thirty-nine next month, she'll be thirty-seven in October. It's too late to be thinking about starting a family.

And it isn't just that, either. She's back on the same old issue again, but she doesn't want to be taking _yet another_ risk. It was hard for her to end things with Shifty, it was hard for her to start things with Joey, getting married was a hassle. Granted, they were all things that ended in a change for the better, but she'd rather quit while she's ahead.

For the first time since she can remember when she's _actually_ content with her lot in life, she's happy with the way things are, and she doesn't want to have to start adapting to something new. She'd thought that part of her life was supposed to be over now. She's comfortably settled, she's got a husband who loves her- and she loves him- and that's enough of a taste of happiness for her. She's got a pleasant little life, and that's all she ever wanted, and to put that on the line, to possibly sacrifice that just to chase a more out-of-reach rainbow is something she just doesn't want to do.

Unfortunately for her, it's exactly the sort of thing Joey Boswell _would_ want to do. The Boswells are all risk-takers, ever in search of a little more, never just content with what they've got. And so Joey keeps on dropping hints about it. And not so subtle ones at that.

It's not that she dislikes children. She gets on well enough with Aveline's two when they go to visit, simply _adores_ Adrian's sons- they've all got a miniature version of the terrified/glazed look. Francesca is a different matter, but then she's just not a likeable person, and Martina doesn't hold her as a strike against offspring in general.

It's just that she's never felt she needed one. She knows that's not normal, especially at her age- tick-tock and all that- but the fact is, she's pretty much resigned herself to the fact that she's not going to end up with any, and she's not the least bit bothered by that.

It wouldn't have been possible before- was never an option when she was living in not-so-wedded not-so-bliss with Shifty. The environment was too unstable. No-one should have to grow up in something like that, and so she'd never even entertained the notion, not for one minute. Then again, neither had Shifty.

And by now, she's just stopped thinking about it, is perfectly ready to devote herself to Joey and her, her and Joey, just the two of them. She doesn't need the addition of a third party, feels, in fact, that it'd probably subtract from their happiness rather than add to it.

Martina was always a sulky little girl- nothing much has changed, she thinks wryly- not bubbly or exuberant like children are typically depicted to be. Granted, this might be due to her upbringing. Born as an accident- and her parents made no secret of the fact- she came at a bad time indeed, seventeen years after her brother, who'd just entered a world of problems with alcohol and gone off the rails, leaving her parents in despair when she'd popped into the world and added one more problem to their already growing list.

And though this child, this hypothetical child, because there isn't one, never will be if she has her way, would be vastly more wanted and anticipated, she's still inclined to think that genetics would doom it to be as depressed as she was. As she still is, a lot of the time, despite how happy she is with Joey on the whole. It doesn't take a big, significant reason for her to find herself feeling miserable. She thinks sometimes she should get herself diagnosed, but then that would just be another horrible thing to have to go through, and if she doesn't know, at least she doesn't have to go through any bother about it.

And because of this, because of all these reasons, she's determined not to have children. She makes a show of rattling her pills each morning- _look, I'm not taking any chances, Joey, it's not happening, deal with it-_ walks past baby carriages without so much as a glance inside, changes the subject pointedly if the conversation ever veers in the direction of procreation.

She's not having one. She doesn't want one. They don't need one, end of.

Thing is, Joey's begun to obsess. He treats the issue like a hedonistic need- feels he needs one like he needs air or food. The look on his face is always so hopeful, so pleading. His eyes fairly light up if anyone utters a word that so much as _sounds_ like 'baby' or 'child'. They instantly become downcast when she takes a pill.

And even though she says so often, has always said, from the moment she met Joey, that plays for sympathy and pity have no effect on her, when she sees that pathetic look on his face a little bubble wells up inside her heart. She doesn't know what's possessing her. She should be able to see right through this. Rationally, she shouldn't fall for it, logically she should be unmoved.

But she does, and she is moved, and whatever it is keeps possessing her regardless of her own conscience telling her not to let it.

And it's this that prompts her to put her pill down the sink one morning when Joey's not looking.

* * *

She should've seen it coming- after all, she has planned it- but still, when it happens, it's a shock.

She's brought all this on herself, Martina realises. She could have stayed strong, resisted the temptation, but no, every morning for months now she's been deftly disposing of her pills, whilst still pretending to Joey she's taking them. The idea is to make it look like an accident, so he'll never know she's given in. She doesn't think she can bear the smugness that would undoubtedly ensue if he finds out he's won. Martina hates losing a battle, and she especially hates losing it to Joey.

But really, that's what she's done. Because whether she lets on or not, all his pleading and begging and sad looks have done the trick, have actually _worked_ on her.

And now it's happened.

Martina supposes she should be happy about that.

She isn't.

She doesn't really know what to think, can't get further into the future than what Joey's reaction will be when she breaks the news. He'll be smug, or proud- or worse, excited.

 _Why did I do this?_ she asks herself in desperation. _Joey's got enough to be going on with. He'd have gotten over it in time, if I'd stuck to me guns. And instead I went and did it anyway. Why?_

She isn't quite sure how best to put it to Joey, so she tells him straight out, the instant he walks through the door.

The look on Joey's face is one of those things that, in her professional context, in her out-to-get-him context, she would be taking a Polaroid of. But she's not out to get him at the moment, and she's not in the mood for teasing.

There's a long pause.

'Are you sure?'

It's taken him nearly five minutes to come up with _that?_

'What an original question,' she says flatly.

'Martina,' Joey grabs her arms, 'are you positive- one hundred per cent certain?'

' _No,_ Joey, I said it because I felt like a laugh,' she clenches her fists, 'o' _course_ I'm certain!'

Joey drops her arms, paces. Martina's eyes follow him, her brow furrowing. She'd been expecting a bit more of a reaction than _this_.

Anger wells up inside her and she purses her lips, her chest puffing out as she inhales.

'I thought you'd be _pleased.' I wouldn't have bothered otherwise,_ she adds in her mind.

He turns back to her, and for a moment he can't force down his enormous grin, but then he clocks her face and his mouth settles down into a more neutral expression.

'Well, of course I am, sunshine- you know I wanted this- but are you…are you okay?'

She doesn't answer him. Martina doesn't know if she's okay or not. Joey's happy, so some part of her plan must have worked.

He moves to sit beside her. 'I mean I know you didn't…it's just you said you wouldn't…' his eyes suddenly widen in fear. 'You're not gonna get rid of it, are you?'

'I wouldn't do that and you know it.' She sighs, flips back her hair with one hand. He catches hold of it, kisses her fingertips, rakes his own hand through her hair.

'How'd this happen, anyway?'

Joey certainly is Mister Cliché-Man today. That's the second unimaginative question in a row. Martina rolls her eyes.

'Would you like me ter explain with a diagram, or should I tell you the story of what 'appens when a man and a woman love each other very much?'

Joey laughs, some of the tension lines on his forehead and around his eyes subsiding. 'Oh, you know what I mean, sweetheart! You've been so… _meticulous_ …in makin' sure you won't…'

Ah. Yes. That. Well, she thinks, looking at his face, at his concern for her feelings on the matter battling visibly with his own ecstasy at the news, perhaps she might tell him it wasn't such an accident after all…some day. But not today. She's been generous enough to him, without giving him a triumphant victory as well.

So she just shrugs it off nonchalantly, as if the reasoning behind the 'accident' matters little to her.

And then the ecstasy manages to win Joey's facial battle, and he's grinning again, kissing her over and over.

'You do know what this means, don't you?'

'The Boswells march on for another generation?'

'Well, of course, that is a rather important factor to be noted, sweetheart- but even more importantly,' he's got hold of her shoulders, practically shaking her in his excitement, 'Martina, sweetheart, we're havin' a _baby_!'

'I'm aware of that.' She's still not sure if she's happy about this, but she puts on a smirk for Joey's benefit. After all, like he says, there's nothing she can do about it. It's happening whether she likes it or not.

'And that's a good thing, is it?'

She's perfected the art of the tease so well she can do it when she doesn't really mean it, and it very nearly almost sounds the same. Normally, Joey would be able to detect the marginal change in her tone of voice, notice that the slant of her eyebrow is a little harsher than normal, that it's forced. But he's too excited, and it clouds his judgement.

'It's fantastic, sweetheart! _Fantastic!_ '

Martina doesn't join in with his celebrating. Whether or not this is 'fantastic' remains to be seen.

* * *

Martina's only been pregnant for maybe a couple of months, but already she hates it. She hates waking up in the morning with the urge to vomit out the contents of her stomach. She hates always feeling cramped and sore and fatigued, and hates the fact that sometimes the smell of her own cooking nauseates her.

And it's going to get worse before it's over, she knows _that_. She's going to get fat. There's going to be pain. And then at the end of it all, she'll be left with a baby and expected to love it and look after it. She doesn't like it _now_ , and she can't even see it yet.

And what's more, her in-laws have become positively intolerable. The instant Joey blabbed ( _despite_ her telling him not to, she might add) every Boswell seemed to crawl out of the woodwork and descend upon her with congratulations and presents. She doesn't want them. She doesn't want all their second-hand advice, either, or their assumptions that she's even nearly as excited about it as they are.

She can't bring herself to be excited about it at all.

Joey makes up for her lack of enthusiasm, though, overcompensates, even. He can barely talk about anything else, and she's getting sick of listening to all his ridiculous ideas of how he's going to bring it up to be a clever, cunning Boswell, teach it everything he knows. He's going on and on and on about all sorts of rubbish until she tells him to just _shut up_ , because he's doing her head in.

That's another thing she has to contend with. The mood swings. She gets angrier even more easily than normal, even cries, sometimes- and Martina never cries, not if she can help it. She's spent so long teaching herself how _not_ to cry in nearly all situations. But nowadays she _can't_ help it, and she loses it over the most insignificant, petty little things imaginable.

This morning it's the fact that Joey hasn't made the bed properly. He doesn't normally do it, she supposes she should be pleased he has, but she always stacks the pillows in twos, and she always folds a bit of the lower sheet over the top of the others, and Joey's just pulled the lot flat and shoved the pillows every which way.

And this makes her extremely, inexplicably cross.

She screams at him for a good fifteen minutes before storming downstairs, and she's sulking on the sofa when the door creaks.

'Greetings,' Joey says sheepishly. Martina determinedly ignores him.

'I brought you some tea.' He's grovelling- and so he should be. It's totally disgraceful, the way he's made the bed. Such a mess. How dare he.

She takes the tea though, and sips it.

'Ugh!' She drops the cup to the saucer with a clatter, and Joey looks at her with confusion.

'Somethin' wrong, sweetheart?'

'This is disgusting!' And she bursts into tears.

Joey has his arms round her in an instant, petting and cradling her. 'What's the matter, sweetheart? What's brought this on, eh?'

'I don't know! I don't know!' she sobs into his shoulder. And she doesn't know. This is totally unlike her in every respect.

'Hey, sweetheart, shh,' he cradles her closer, strokes her hair, 'it's just hormones, you'll be okay- you'll be back to your usual, self, shoutin' _next_ and tellin' me you're out to get me in no time.'

'No time' meaning seven months or thereabouts. Months and months of this, or if not this, undoubtedly worse things.

'I don't want to do this.'

'Sweetheart, I know it's all a bit rough now- but it'll get better, I promise you. It'll be worth it in the end, when the baby's born.'

'Will it?' Martina says. She's not so sure of that, to be honest.

* * *

It's not that she isn't _trying_ to be happy about this. Heaven knows she's wearing herself out trying to be happy about it.

But Martina can't help feeling something's missing. She should be feeling some sort of connection, some sort of bond with the baby by now. That's normal, isn't it?

Only she isn't. She doesn't feel anything for it, really. If anything, it annoys her. It's just this thing that's… _there_ , and getting in the way, somehow, even though it's not really started to show yet, and doing all sorts of horrible things to her body and her common sense. She can't even feel enthusiastic about getting involved in any of the actual process. It's Joey who asks all the questions when they go for the scans and check-ups, Joey who's planning ahead financially for this baby (and by this she means constantly asking obnoxious questions about what sort of benefits it might be able to receive from the Social Security), Joey who's the one going positively gushy.

And, if she's honest with herself, Martina's getting a bit jealous. She wants to be able to love it the way Joey does, even though it's not born yet, but she just doesn't know how to.

This evening, in particular, it's really getting on her nerves. She's had a long, not to mention _stressful_ day at work, and she's trying to watch the telly in peace- and Joey's got his head resting on her stomach, talking to the baby.

She isn't listening to a lot of what he's saying- she's deliberately ignoring him, as a matter of fact- but she catches a few snippets here and there, and the topics seem to range from how he's thinking of decorating the baby's room to the way he narrowly dodged a car crash this morning to Billy and his sandwich business. He's just telling that baby _everything_ , as if it's the most natural thing in the world to be talking to someone who hasn't even fully formed yet, and can't understand you.

'How d'you do that?' she demands. 'How can you just _do that_?'

Joey looks up at her and frowns. 'Do what, sweetheart?'

'Just… _that_!' she makes a vicious gesture with her hands, trying to sum up all her feelings. 'How can you just talk to it like that? It's not…it's not…' she can't even finish, she doesn't know she _can_ explain what she's feeling. Joey's watching her with some confusion and no small amount of concern. She swallows, comes out with the most simple thought that's been troubling her. 'I don't…I can't, you know…sort of… _love_ it that way.'

Joey stares at her sadly.

'I just can't…oh, don't look at me like that. It's not like I 'aven't _tried_ , I just…it doesn't feel real, somehow. It's like something's not there that should be.'

Joey sits up, wraps his arm round her shoulders, tucks her against his side. 'Maybe you just need to connect with 'im a bit more, sweetheart, that's all.'

Martina doesn't like Joey calling the baby 'him.' Makes her worry he's thinking of Oscar. She's calling it an 'it' though, so she can hardly talk.

'How?' How can she connect with it? 'If you're suggestin' natterin' away to it like you do…'

He nods, his face dead serious.

'Just give it a try.'

* * *

So she does, but not when Joey's around to see, to make fun of her. She sits on the bed and puts her hands on her stomach, trying to get into the right frame of mind, trying to feel even the tiniest spark of the connection she's supposed to have.

'Hello…baby.'

This is bloody embarrassing. She can just imagine Joey's face if he could see her now. She'd want to punch it. She maybe _would_ , given her current emotional instability.

She carries on, going red in the face even though there's no-one else around.

'So. Joey…yer... _Dad_ , I suppose, isn't he…he said I should talk ter you. You probably know 'im, he gets in touch with yer all the time…' she looks down at herself, throws her hands up. 'Listen ter me. What am I doin'? This is pointless! It's not gonna work.'

She informs Joey later of her failed attempt, if only because she wants him to know he's wrong. He doesn't laugh, as she's been expecting. Instead, he tells her to keep at it.

* * *

And so, humiliating as it still feels, Martina works out a routine, tries to stick with it. She converses with the baby for ten minutes after she wakes up, ten minutes during her lunch break and ten minutes before she goes to bed. She still feels like an idiot, still can't see the point. But she perseveres anyway, because her stubbornness is beginning to kick in, and she's determined to prove Joey wrong, _prove_ that all this so-called bonding is doing nothing at all.

And then, out of the blue, at around eleven weeks, she feels a flutter. Just a little tap, really, and she's positive she was just imagining it.

But she touches her midriff all the same.

She's at work when it happens, dealing with an annoying cow who keeps going on about her teenage son's motorbike accident, but as soon as the sensation passes through her she stops taking notes, staring down at herself instead.

'Eh- aren't you gonna give me a form or somethin'?'

The little flutter comes again. It feels a bit like she's swallowed a goldfish.

A smile breaks out on Martina's face without her knowledge.

'Hello,' she whispers.

'You're not even listenin' to me, you…you Dolly Day-dream!' The woman at her counter shrieks. 'Pay attention to me- do what you're paid to do!'

Martina looks up slowly, in an unprecedented good mood. 'Next!' she chimes.

'Eh! You're not finished with me yet!'

Martina merely drops the 'closed' sign onto her desk and walks off into the other room.

* * *

'We 'ad Mister Wilson in today. I see 'im a lot, you know. Never _can_ wait 'is turn.' Martina sighs, adjusting herself as the baby moves. It does it on and off now, some days hardly at all, some days quite a lot, and she's beginning to be able to tell the difference between general thrashing and when it's annoyed or uncomfortable. Well, she likes to think so, anyway. It gives the general illusion that something's beginning to happen between them.

'He comes _bargin'_ up ter the desk- frightened the life out o' the girl I was servin', demandin' 'is money- he raised 'is fist, you know…'

From the armchair on the other side of the room, Joey laughs softly to himself. Martina stops what she's doing and looks up to glare at him.

'And what are _you_ sniggerin' at?'

'For somethin' that's ' _not workin'_ ' you seem to be doin' an awful lot of it.'

'I'm only doin' what you suggested, _Mister Boswell.'_

'I know, dear lady, I know.' He flashes his teeth at her. 'Oh, I do so love bein' right.'

'You're not _right_ ,' Martina says, and chucks a cushion at him.

* * *

Martina's frightened- _terrified_ in fact, and she doesn't know why.

Nor does she know where she is, or what she's doing there. She seems to be surrounded by concrete, and someone's laughing at her.

It's Shifty.

'Get away from me,' she tells him.

' _Noo,_ you don't want me to go.' He leans toward her.

'Get away from me!' she shrieks.

And then it isn't Shifty, it's that bloke- the one with no name that seems to harass Joey, and he's coming at her all sinister-like, and now it's Mr. Wilson and now she can't even tell and she's backed into a corner, and what about the baby, what's going to happen to the baby if he hurts her?

_Martina! Martina!_

Joey's calling her from far away, his voice almost misty in quality, but she can't find him, and she can't get out, and _what about the baby?!_

_Martina! MARTINA!_

'Martina!'

And then Martina's opening her eyes, is sitting up with a cry of fear, and Joey's shaking her.

'Martina, calm down!'

She blinks. It's dark. They're in bed.

'Are you okay, sweetheart?'

She peers at Joey through the darkness and it hits her. It was a dream.

The relief is enormous. Martina flings her arms round Joey in an uncharacteristic display, clinging to him.

'Hey, _hey_ , sweetheart, it was just a dream…' but he holds her tightly, and it's only as it subsides that she realises she's been shaking.

'I know,' she sighs, pulling away and quickly regaining control of herself, 'I know. I was just so worried…'

'What was it that upset you? You never get this worked up about dreams…'

'I just…I thought somethin' was gonna 'appen ter the baby, and…'

She stops short as she realises- realises just what this means. Martina's filled with a wonderful warmth, and tears form in her eyes.

'You _do_ love it, don't you?'

Martina nods, wiping away the tears. 'I couldn't bear the idea of somethin' 'appenin' to it, not now…'

'So you really do…want it?'

She tuts. 'O' _course_ I want it. I wouldn't 'ave 'ad it in the first place if I didn't, would I?'

' _Yeah_ , but that was an accident…'

Martina narrows her eyes but smiles.

'Accident my foot, Joey Boswell. I knew exactly what I was doin'.'

She doesn't know whether or not Joey believes her, but he's delighted by her change of heart nonetheless.

'Come 'ere, you,' he says, pulling her close and kissing her.

The baby moves. Martina guides Joey's hand to her stomach to feel. And this time, when Joey grins enthusiastically, she grins back at him.

* * *

At sixteen weeks, they ask to know the gender.

Martina knows Joey would be ecstatic either way, knows now she'd love either kind of baby, now she's realised she _does_ love it, but she's secretly pleased it's a girl. She'd been hoping it would be, because if it'd been a son, she'd have worried Joey was thinking of it as an Oscar, version two.

And because now she's given him something he's never had before, something he never had with Roxy. Something that he's never experienced, and which he can experience for the first time with her and her alone. Roxy _lent_ him a son. She's _giving_ him a daughter.

'A girl! Aw, _hey_ , isn't that _fantastic_ , Martina?'

She doesn't like to agree with Joey often, but she readily agrees with this.

It _is_ fantastic. And this time, it really is.

* * *

Naturally, the next obstacle in the road is choosing a name. Martina should've known it wouldn't be simple- making a decision never is when Joey's involved. It took them ages to agree on how to decorate their house (there's bound to be another argument when it comes to decorating the baby's room, and she isn't looking forward to that either), and it seems their clashing tastes carry over to names, too.

For starters, Joey's either decided not to take this seriously, or to be insufferably egotistical. His first preference is Josie.

' _Why_?' Martina asks, suspicious she knows the answer already.

' _Well_ , it is tradition, after all, to name a child after its father…'

'And what century are you livin' in? This isn't the Middle Ages, you know.'

'But admit, it is a splendid name- it's like Joey, but for a _girl_ …'

'Does everythin' in life 'ave ter come down ter your _ego_?'

Joey pretends to be wounded. 'Oh, sweetheart, my poor ego doesn't like it when you talk like that…'

It's clear he's just going to be silly about this.

So Martina gets a book.

'Any proper ideas, or am I gonna do this the hard way?'

Joey maintains that Josie _is_ a proper idea, and so Martina rolls her eyes, opens the book to a random page and starts flicking backwards, reading names at random.

'Primrose?'

'You can't 'ave _that_ , it'll make her sound like a nun!'

'Patricia, then.'

'Do you _want_ her to grow up a DHSS lady?'

Martina's made cross by this remark. 'And _what's_ so wrong with a DHSS lady, may I ask?'

'Nothin', sunshine! Nothin'! That's just the sort o' name you can imagine a bad-tempered, frosty-faced…' Joey's list trails off when he's met with undoubtedly the most bad-tempered, frosty-faced expression he's ever seen in his life. He's only joking, of course, but she's still going to seethe about it.

So Martina suggests _Lillian_ in retaliation. Joey doesn't speak to her for twenty minutes.

She sits with her arms crossed until he comes out of his childish sulk, and turns back to the book, flicking further towards the front.

'Carmen?'

'Oh, not _Carmen_ , Martina! Didn't I tell you about our Adrian's Carmen?'

'Oh. Yeah.'

She makes a few more suggestions, and every time Joey finds something to complain about.

'Well, then, why don't you come up with something instead of just pickin' ter pieces all my suggestions?' she snaps, after he rejects what has to be the twentieth or thirtieth name in a row.

Joey ponders. 'Josie.'

'For the last time, _no!_ '

* * *

Martina's sitting reading through a stack of paperwork, trying to force her eyes to stay open long enough to get through it all. She's done this every night for the past week now- brought work home- because try as she might she can't stay focussed anymore. She's finding herself either daydreaming or almost dozing off far too often these days, catching herself just in time, and she finds she's looking forward to her maternity leave more and more as it draws closer. What she'll do with all that time, though, she's not entirely sure. She hates being idle.

' _Again_ , sweetheart?'

Joey flicks a finger over the papers in her hands with a not-so-serious tut. 'Gonna have to give the DHSS a piece of me mind, aren't I?'

'I fell behind,' she mutters, not caring enough to make something of it.

Joey shrugs, then with a dramatic yawn, flops down across the length of the sofa, laying his head in her lap. Martina rolls her eyes. The concept of 'personal space' and Joey seem not to be acquainted at all, sometimes. She holds the papers over his head and reads on regardless.

'What do you think of Belle?' The question is sudden, and she pauses, putting her work aside to stare down at him strangely.

'What bell?' Martina asks, not sure if she's heard right. She looks round the room, trying to work out what he's referring to.

'No, no, _Belle_. As in 'beautiful'. As in, for the baby.'

'That's daft.'

Joey is visibly deflated. 'It's better than Josie, isn't it?'

'Only _marginally,_ Joey. It's still probably one o' the worst baby names I've ever 'eard in me life.'

'Why?'

'Where do I begin?' Martina huffs. 'It's back to yer ego again, isn't it? Namin' yer child 'beautiful' is just _askin'_ fer compliments. It's showin' off.'

'But, _sweetheart_ , there's no law against bein' proud of somethin' you have.'

'Oh, I know _that_ , Mister Boswell. The way you flaunt that Jag o' yours is proof enough o' _that_. Well, you are not givin' our child a boastful name and that's all there is to it.'

'Boastful name!' Joey laughs, burying his face in her side. 'Wherever do you get these expressions from, sunshine?'

'It's pretentious. And _anyway_ , _'_ Martina continues, because she hasn't finished yet, 'Belle _Boswell_? You don't wanna land the poor thing with a rhymin' name either. Sounds like something your Adrian'd do.'

Joey leans his head back so it slides off her knee, a pensive expression on his face. 'It could be _short_ for somethin', couldn't it?'

Martina sighs. He's not going to give up on this easily. 'Such as?'

'Well, you're the one who bought the name book, sweetheart. Can't you remember any?'

She can't, but she can think of two off the top of her head.

'Belinda?'

'No, couldn't have that. It was one of Billy's girlfriends' names. He'd never forgive me.'

'Isabelle, then.'

'Oh, I don't like _that_.'

'Well that's all I can think of. And anyway, it doesn't matter, 'cause _as I said_ , we are not namin' the baby Belle and that's _all there is to it._ '

* * *

Except it isn't. It just never is, is it?

Martina bookmarks fifteen more names and Joey turns his nose up at all of them. His heart is quite set on Belle now, and nothing's going to deter him.

But nothing's going to warm Martina to the idea of an egotistical, pretentious, rhyming, downright _stupid_ name.

No name seems to fit, though. She's beginning to get a picture in her head of her daughter, albeit an incredibly blurry one, like she's been snapped by a camera with a faulty lens, and, of course, it's probably nothing like what she's going to look like, or sound like, or act like, but Martina is happy to keep it until she meets her for real.

And none of the names she considers will go with that picture. She tries going by meanings, going by people she likes, opening to a random page and hoping for the best, but none of these approaches work.

'I give up.' She drops the book to one side, looks down at her growing bump. 'What do _you_ think, love?'

The baby squirms a bit.

'You don't want to be called _'Belle'_ , do yer?'

A kick.

Martina decides _not_ to interpret that as a sign.

* * *

Martina wakes up when Joey returns from wherever he's been, slinging his coat over the dresser and creeping across the room. She groans. She's tired- the baby's been moving around for ages, and it's taken her a long time to get to sleep in the first place. She doesn't need this now, doesn't need Joey coming in late and disturbing her.

Martina screws her eyes up tightly, tries to ignore him as he climbs into bed, thrashes about trying to get himself comfortable. It's doing her head in- she'll get up and smother him with a pillow in a minute.

Belle stirs inside her and she puts a hand on her stomach in the feeble hope that the baby will go back to sleep or whatever they do, and leave her to get some rest.

'You okay, sweetheart?'

' 'm _tired_ ,' Martina grumbles. 'And you're not helpin'.'

'Can't get much sleep, eh?'

'Well I'm not gonna get any when you keep yakkin' on, am I?' she snaps. She hears Joey sigh.

'Sorry, sunshine,' she feels his arm snake around her waist and his chin nuzzle against her shoulder. 'You go to sleep.'

Martina wants to point out that it's impossible to do so when Joey's breathing down her neck and absently tracing patterns on her stomach, and Belle's coming back to life. But she's becoming too exhausted even to argue at this point, so she just lies there, silently fuming while Joey slips away into slumber.

Her eyes are heavy, but whenever she shuts them they automatically open up again, and she resigns herself to staying awake with her thoughts.

One of them is particularly worrying. When did she start referring to the baby as 'Belle'?

* * *

She must drift off at some point, because come morning she finds herself opening her eyes, her head resting on Joey's chest. Something soft and silky- quite an expensive fabric, by the feel of it, rubs against her cheek, and Martina notes that Joey's still fully dressed from his escapades last night. She leans over him, smiling fondly.

'You know what's been gettin' at me lately?' she asks, idly running a finger down the buttons of Joey's shirt, ' what am I gonna tell the baby about all these mysterious disappearances you keep makin'? She's bound ter notice eventually that you're a crook.'

Joey laughs and reaches up to kiss her forehead. 'And here's me thinkin' you'd have told her all about my shady dealings already. You never stop chattin' to her these days!

'What about Annabelle?' She doesn't even know where that came from- she just opened her mouth and there it was. She _had_ originally intended to deliver a cutting retort to his comment.

Joey's eyes light up. 'For the baby?'

'No, fer me new desk at the Social Security. O' _course_ for the baby!'

 _'Annabelle_ ,' Joey tries it out on his tongue a few times, stressing the different syllables, 'you may have got somethin' there, sweetheart. I like it.'

'Well, it can be Belle fer short, can't it? If _absolutely necessary._ Seein' as 'ow you're not even gonna _think_ about other names.'

And then he grins at her. ' _And_ you're concedin' to boot. I like it a lot.'

'I'm not _concedin'_ ,' she insists, glaring. 'I don't concede ter _you_ , Joey Boswell- never in me life.'

'Except for admittin' you loved me, marryin' me, givin' me forms, sometimes, and…'

She smacks him to stop his list from going on.

'So, not so pretentious after all, then?' Joey asks.

'That remains to be seen. Give us the book.'

Joey wriggles his arm out of the blankets, reaches over to where the name book sits on the bedside table.

'Annabelle…' he thumbs through the pages, snorts and then holds it out for her to see.

_Variant of Annabel._

'Informative.'

Joey flicks to 'Annabel.'

_Variant of Amabel._

'This book's doin' it on purpose!' he cries. Martina smirks at his impatience, takes it from him, turns to Amabel.

_Medieval feminine form of Amabilis._

This time they both laugh, because it is- this book is deliberately withholding the meaning from them.

'One last try?' Joey asks.

Martina runs her finger down the page, looking for it.

'There. 'Loveable'. S'pose that'll do.'

'You can't say that's pretentious, sweetheart.'

' _Well_ …' she makes a gesture with her hand, tipping it from side to side, 'just a little, perhaps. But I suppose it wouldn't be a Boswell baby without _some_ degree o' pretention, would it?'

'I do love it when you concede.'

The book's still in her hand, and it's too good an opportunity to pass up thwacking him over the head with it.

She does have to admit though, he's been right about quite a few things. Chasing that one last out-of-reach rainbow _has_ been worth it after all, so far. And it's going to get better, she's sure about that. It'll be the two of them, _with_ Belle, and she _will_ add to their happiness, rather than subtract from it. They'll be happy. She knows they will. For once in her life, she knows this for certain.

Joey rubs his head. 'That's a lovely way of sayin' _good mornin'_ , that is.'

She smirks, kisses him. 'Good morning.'

'And a very good mornin' to you too, sweetheart.'

Martina exhales, slowly eases herself up, rubs her stomach. 'Mornin', Belle.'

She hears Joey snicker.

'Oh, _shut up._ '

**Author's Note:**

> Credit where credit is due, the name meanings in Martina's baby book came from behindthename.com  
> Also, she was initially called Abigail, but I already put too many My Family references in my fics as it is (Martina's brother Roger- named after Roger Bailey, though they're nothing alike), then she was called Belinda which I didn't like, so now she's Belle.


End file.
